Matthew's scribbles

I don't listen to the nerves under my skin you know, I don't let the feeling well up in me anymore because you're not here and I'm not there, I probably shouldn't stare at the walls either you know, because they have a tendency to stare back and those eyes are killers, Because in my room at night... Sign in to see full entry.

The seats sink low in the theater, which gives the little boy a prideful smile, knowing sitting in seats surrounded by adults his feet, along with theirs, are touching the dark, sticky floor, But the seat directly in front of the little boy becomes heavy and busy all at once; the large man in the... Sign in to see full entry.

stream of conscience writing has always found me kindly, its "buffalo graceful lines" as I like to name them, seem a bit more honest, I can see the struggle for words. I think it's beautiful. So here are some of my mental prairie fires. "I don't think 'em girls really want to love on 'em boys... Sign in to see full entry.

The Elephant Vs. The Acoustic Rainstorm It Happens so that sometimes when I look at her, it doesn't matter if we're talking or about to engage in some mooneyed foolishness, I see that Portrait, her mountain trail neck, gracious and curiously inviting me, and I feel about as useless as an elephant in... Sign in to see full entry.

I Could have named them for their deepening blue, Howling winds, ever present, collected like sand dollars and wrinkles of light in child eyes, Perhaps the naming is weaved in the silent trembling of observation for those waking moments of birth for the water's edge, and those bunched gray pillows,... Sign in to see full entry.